


girl crush [imagines]

by eurogray



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Friends (TV), Gossip Girl (TV 2007), Grey's Anatomy, Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Vampire Diaries (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Imagines, XReader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurogray/pseuds/eurogray
Summary: "hate to admit it, but i got a heart rush"imagines written by a seventeen-year-old who has nothing better to do with their free timeREQUESTS OPEN!>> best version can be found on wattpad
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

because of my inability to focus on a book for an extended period, i decided that an "imagines" book was the way to go while i work on my other projects.

please feel free to suggest plotlines and/or characters for me to write about! i'm open to all suggestions.

i will write about any character, no matter gender. if that bothers you, i would not read this -- or any of my future stories, for that matter.

these imagines will vary in length and skill since i don't always have the time to sit down and write, and the reader (a.k.a. you) will be written without gender since i know that not all readers are female, but some of them will mention something involving makeup or hair, since that is just how the "character" is written.


	2. 000.  [topics]

below is a list of shows and movies that i will write about. this list is not limited to the things provided here, so if you would like me to write something, pm me and i'll see what i can do! :) 

\- criminal minds  
\- the walking dead  
\- grey's anatomy*  
\- the vampire diaries  
\- avengers/marvel  
\- jurassic world  
\- friends  
\- gossip girl  
\- and more.

*when there is an asterisk (aka *) next to the initials a.k. in a grey's anatomy imagine, that means it's about april kepner! since her and alex have the same initials, i wanted to make it a point that they were different people.

i will **not** write smut, so please do not ask or suggest it.


	3. 001.  [trigger warnings]

these imagines may, at some point, contain some triggers, so i will make sure to add them at the beginning of each one if there are any that i know of.

if you come across one and there isn't a warning, let me know and i'll add it asap. i never want to make anybody uncomfortable, so please try to tell me if something does make you feel that way. it's never my intention.


	4. i.  four [ w.m. ]

⬇ trigger warning ⬇  
 _death, violence, mild language_

**❛ wow... uh- four, then ❜**   
_wanda_ _maximoff_

As Wanda set down the spoon that she used to stir her coffee, you gave her a cheeky grin. She rolled her eyes but returned the gesture with a toothy smile of her own. Along with three other members of the Avengers, the two of you were on a mission in Lagos to try and stop an old enemy from taking innocent lives.

On the radio, Steve Roger's staticky voice sounded in your ear. "All right," he started. "What do you see?"

Simultaneously, you and Wanda began to look around the small cafe that three group members resided in. It was packed with civilians, but you were still able to make out Natasha Romanoff, who sat just a few tables away. To remain as inconspicuous as you could, you raised the coffee cup in your hand to your lips and only scanned the area with your eyes. Wanda, however, didn't think to do the same.

"Standard beat cops," she answered. "Small station. Quiet street-"

"It's a good target," you said, taking notice of an ATM on a nearby corner and seeing if anyone had picked up on it. Luckily, Steve beat you to the punch.

He said, "There's an ATM on the south corner, which means..."

"Cameras." Wanda took a drink of her coffee.

This was a double whammy - a teaching moment for Wanda and a mission for the rest of the team. When Rogers would trail off or ask a question, he expected Maximoff to be able to answer with confidence. If she struggled for an extended period, you, Natasha, or Sam would step in.

You set down your cup onto the table and scratched your upper lip. "Cross streets are both one-ways," you said.

The redhead across from you met your eye, nodding. "So, compromised escape routes." You grinned.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen," Steve continued. "He isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out. You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?"

"Yeah- the red one?" Wanda said, "It's cute."

You snorted amusedly before covering your mouth with your hand and pulling down the bill of your baseball cap. You were about to zip up your hoodie when Natasha said, "It's also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us."

"Most definitely us," you retorted.

Wanda followed your lead, looking at you and saying, "You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?" Her Sokovian accent was heavy, regardless of trying to sound as American as she could. You found it cute how hard she was trying to blend in when she lit up the whole place with a simple look.

"Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature." Natasha looked at the two of you across the cafe, unamused by the puppy-dog look on your face and the cockiness that radiated off of Wanda. The remaining members of the team knew that you had a crush on the woman, only teasing you about it when they knew she wasn't around to hear. They found it hilarious how much you adored having her on missions, regardless of only meeting her a year prior.

Sam Wilson's _lovely_ voice cut through the radio. "Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?"

"Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?"

You, already knowing that Steve would be the automatic _serious-guy_ on the team, flashed your gaze up to the building that he was inside. "Eyes on the target, folks," he said. "This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. I don't wanna lose him."

Sam scoffed, "If he sees us inside, that won't be a problem. He kinda hates us."

Brock Rumlow, who was a former STRIKE team field commander and HYDRA infiltrator, was presumed dead after having his betrayal revealed, and later discovered to be alive and thriving. Well, other than the burns covering the entirety of his body.

Noticing a truck pushing its way through the crowded street, you placed a hand to the side of your face and covered your mouth as if you were quieting a cough. "Sam," you said. "See that big-ass garbage truck over there? Tag it, will ya?"

Regardless of not getting an answer, you heard the faintest whistle of Sam's _Red Wing_ as he sent it flying. It was a bird-shaped drone that was provided with a live-feed camera that sent video straight to a screen on Wilson's suit. It flew close to the ground, slipping beneath the garbage truck and giving a warning that the vehicle's weight was at maximum capacity.

"That truck's at max weight," Sam reported. "And the driver's armed."

Wanda looked at you, her eyes wide.

"Oh, my god- it's a battering ram," you said.

Steve's voice cut through your fast-paced thoughts, saying, "Go now. He's not hitting the police." 

You shot up from your seat without so much as a second thought, reached for the pistol tucked in the waistband of your jeans, and rushed to the Institute For Infectious Diseases - where the truck was headed.

Noticing your urgency, Wanda followed after you and made sure to keep her distance as you pushed past the angry citizens that refused to move out of your way even after warning them of your presence. The building was just up the street, and you wanted to get there as soon as you could. Lives were at stake.

The driver of the truck jumped out twenty feet before it ran into the entrance barrier, flipping over its front and knocking down the concrete pillars that surrounded the perimeter. Two other trucks swerved into the open entrance, screeching to a halt and releasing two dozen men armed with weapons and decked out with full-body armor.

Your breath caught in your throat as you hid behind a pillar that was still standing, amidst the chaos, and began shooting at the men who began attacking the facility's guards. Since all of your focus was on the threat, you noticed that they were wearing gas masks.

"I got some guys with weird masks over here! I think they've got some chemical-y kinds of stuff," you reported to the team.

Just as you said those words, however, canisters were shot through the building's windows and began leaking out a greenish gas. The people inside choked on the fog, killing them almost instantly.

You shouted Steve's name as you noticed him literally falling from the sky. The men had begun shooting at him instead of you since they considered him a worse threat, but they underestimated your skills. You stuck the remaining section of your upper body out from the pillar you were behind and fired at the men attacking the super-soldier. Nearly half of them fell to the ground, injured or worse, while Rogers kicked one of them off of the top of a military truck.

Even though Steve was just fifteen feet away from you, his voice still came through the radio in your ear. "Body armor, AR-15s. I make seven hostiles."

Taking out two men on the roof, Sam says, "I make five." But flying in from the distance, Wanda landed right in front of you, stopped a man's bullets in mid-air, and threw his body backward - to which Sam finished the job by taking him out with the metal of his wings.

"Wow," you whispered, awestruck. But realizing that everyone can hear your voice, you snapped out of it and cleared your throat. "Uh- four, then."


	5. ii.  handsome [ d.m. ]

⬇ trigger warning ⬇  
_child abduction, abuse, violence, murder, suggestive dialogue, anxiety_

**❛ hey, handsome, what're you doing later? let's say we go get a coffee, maybe hang out in my backseat– ❜**  
_derek morgan_

When you hear the word _surreptitious_ , what's the first thing that pops into your head?

Well, according to the Merriam-Dexter dictionary, it means "done, made, or acquired by stealth."

Your teachers described your actions as such while you were growing up. You would lie, cheat, and do anything you could to survive. But none of them were aware of what happened at home. That was something you would never wish upon your worst enemy.

Your father -- a man who abducted you from your home six weeks after you were born -- had an intuition for all things erroneous. Casey, his biological son, was just a few months older than you were but endured most of the exploitative nature of the man's actions throughout his childhood and teenage years.

You were raised as siblings, so when Casey started acting irrationally after John (your father) died, you tried your best to have his back.

It started with him disappearing for days at a time -- something you only noticed because you lived together -- but then it quickly evolved into blood-stained hands and a permanent crazed look in his eye.

Only when you snooped in his bedroom one night did you finally discover the lack of all things good in him.

There were drawings on the inside of his closet door, pictures of women with stab wounds all over, handprints made of blood. And in the corner, on a wire hanger, was a white button-up shirt covered with blood, as well.

When your father was alive, similar actions took place. He would come home with a woman, disappear into his room, and come out with red-stained hands. You and your brother would simply share a look, knowing that John would force you two to help bury the body in the backyard -- where nearly a dozen more women were laid to rest in a mass grave.

John would point a gun to your temple, yelling at you to go into the bedroom and start taking the woman outside. The first time that happened, and you began to cry, a punch to the cheekbone assured you that he wasn't afraid to do worse. Casey simply watched with a look you couldn't pinpoint and almost happily helped you dig the graves.

So when Casey picked up John's _hobby_ after he died, you weren't exactly shocked.

Nine years and thirteen murders later, you were shoved into an interrogation room at the police station in your hometown. As it turned out, the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI had been investigating the killings, and you were their prime suspect.

Not surprisingly so.

"I'm Agent Morgan with the BAU. Do you happen to recognize these women?" A gorgeous African-American man sat in front of you, tossing an open case file onto the metal table, and raised an expectant eyebrow.

You glanced at the pictures strewn about, then leaned back lazily and crossed your arms over your chest. "No. Should I?"

Morgan glanced over to the blonde at the head of the table. "They were buried in your backyard," she said. You recognized her as SSA Jennifer Jareau.

"My backyard, you say?" Your eyes met Derek's. "Hey, handsome, what're you doing later? Let's say we go get a coffee, maybe hang out in my backseat–"

Before you could continue, unfortunately, an uptight-looking man marched into the room with another file in his hands. "These women -- Christina Dabral, Abigail Burrow, just to name a couple -- were found in your backyard, stabbed dozens of times, and throats slit. Does that ring a bell?"

" _Ding_ , _ding_..." You whispered, looking up at the man. "And you must be Aaron Hotchner, unit chief for the BAU. Yeah..." You saw how his face never faltered. "I've heard so much about you. Big boss man. What's that like?"

He didn't answer.

You smiled.

"When I was in high school," you began. "My math teacher, Ms. Brown, _hated_ me. Always said I had my head in the clouds and needed to focus on my studies. Well, six years later and I'm a college graduate with a major in mathematics. I should e-mail her, don't you think?"

None of the agents reacted to your blabbering.

When your father was still alive, he drilled it into your head that filling the police's heads with unimportant information wasn't the way to go, but you weren't sure doing it with the feds would work in your favor.

You knew that they were waiting for you to get nervous, but you wouldn't give them the satisfaction. "Okay," you said. You crossed one leg over the other, running a hand through your hair, looking between the three agents. It was a challenge to see who would talk first, and you wouldn't be the one to lose.

But, regardless of your attempts to be uncooperative, you had given the team a clue. When Hotchner asked if you knew what had happened to the women, you unconsciously gave him an answer. You said yes.

"Who's Casey?"

Derek had been the one to break the silence, causing the corner of your lips to twitch upward. His face never faded while the accusatory thoughts ran through his mind, and yours held the amused sparkle in your eye. He couldn't deny that, even though you were undoubtedly involved, you were attractive.

You sat up in your seat, intertwining your fingers and resting your elbows on the table in front of you. Your wrists were in shackles, so the uncomfortable metal dug into your skin. "Casey," you felt the name on your tongue. "He's an old friend."

There was no evidence of you two ever coming across each other since John made certain that there was no paper trail of you ever having met, so you weren't about to admit to the feds that you were nonbiologically siblings.

"An old friend," Morgan repeated. You nodded. "Do you know where we can find him?"

You looked at Jareau and Hotchner, who were both glaring at you with certainty in their features. "I haven't seen him in years," you said. "I think he moved to the west coast in my senior year of high school, but my time management is _all_ off."

Clearing your throat, you looked between all three agents again. Your nerves were starting to get to you, and they could see it.

"Are you sure you haven't seen him lately?"

You simply nodded. "Positive." This time, you didn't meet anyone's eyes.

They had you right where they wanted you. You knew it, and so did they.

_**It was the next day**_ , and no one had come into the interrogation room to talk to you. It was strange since you were their prime suspect, and they had been badgering you for hours before asking about your brother.

The two-way glass across the room taunted you. You knew some of the BAU agents were on the other side, watching you, seeing your anxiety slowly build up your throat and threaten to spill over.

Your confidence had disappeared when you were left alone all night.

Over time, your leg had begun to bounce up and down, and your fingers tapped in a rhythmic pattern. It was a nervous habit that you picked up from your father, and you hated the fact that some of his attributes still stuck to you to this day.

For heaven's sake, you were willing to take the fall for someone to who you weren't even related. And you hated him.

Morgan said your name as he walked into the room. No one followed after him in, and he had a certain look in his eye. It wasn't like the one before. "How are you? Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee..."

You shook your head, wringing your hands together under the table and biting the inside of your cheek as you looked at him.

He sat down in front of you, nodded, and rested his elbows on the table. "We know what happened to you," he claimed.

"What are you talking about?" you scoffed. "Nothing happened."

"Your real parents, Martha and George, had a baby when they were in their twenties–" He said that the baby was born the same day you were.   
"–and that baby was taken, right under their nose, almost two months later. Do you know anything about that?"

You swallowed. "No."

"You see, I think you do. I think your _father_ , John, raised you as his own. His son, Casey, acted like a brother to you up until John died, and that's when he started to change. How am I doing so far?"

You simply stared at him.

"Casey started killing women, just like John did when you were kids. He forced you to help him, threatening to kill you if you didn't. You were terrified, but he was your brother, and you were willing to do anything for fami–"

" _Stop_."

At this point, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes. You were starting to relive every killing that you witnessed John committing. You were so young. You hated him for taking away your childhood.

Why did he take you away from your parents?

Why did he raise you as his own?

Why did he have to go off and die before you could report him to the cops?

Questions swarmed your thoughts, and you struggled to meet Morgan's eyes through the tears. You were scared of going to jail for something you didn't do. You were scared that if you were deemed innocent, they wouldn't be able to find Casey, and he would kill you if he found out you told the feds anything.

You were core-strickenly terrified.

"We found Casey."

Your leg stopped bouncing as you searched Derek's face for any tell of a lie, but you found none. "Are you lying to me right now? Because if you aren't, I'll have ruined my makeup for nothing."

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as you dabbed your under eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. "I'm absolutely serious," he said. "He's in the other room, confessing to everything."

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm gonna need proof of that, Agent. If he's actually here, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Derek Morgan turned around in his seat, looked at the two-way mirror, and nodded once. You assumed that whoever was behind the glass would get a video or picture of some sort and prove to you that Casey was in the same building as you, and you were inwardly hoping that the gorgeous man in front of you was telling the truth.

If he were, you might've finally been free to live your own life.

Jennifer Jareau walked into the room nearly two minutes later, holding a phone out to you and playing a video of Casey talking to another agent. You smiled at the sight.

"Oh, my God," you muttered. "I don't have to lie for him anymore."

Derek gave you a grin when he saw the relief on your face. "No," he said your name. "You don't."

Running a hand over your face, you let out a laugh. "Okay, _Agent Morgan with the BAU_ ," you said. "Ask away."


End file.
